Dawn of All eBook

“I don’t think so. He’s extraordinarily
determined. But I wanted to know if you could
give me any hope on the other side. Could you
do anything for him with the Cardinal, or at Rome?”

“I . . . I will speak to the Cardinal,
certainly, if you wish. But——­”

“Yes, I know. But you know a great deal
depends on the temper of the court. Facts depend
for their interpretation upon the point of view.”

“But I understand that it’s definite heresy—­that
he denies that there is any distinction between the
miracles of the Church and——­”

The abbot interrupted.

“Yes, yes, Monsignor. But for all that
there’s a great deal in the way these things
are approached. You see there’s so much
neutral ground on which the Church has defined nothing.”

“I am afraid, from what I’ve seen of the
papers, that Dom Adrian will insist on a clear issue.”

“I’m afraid so: I’m afraid
so. We’ll do our best here to persuade
him to be reasonable. And I thought that if you
would perhaps do your best on the other side—­would
tell the Cardinal, as from yourself, what you think
of Dom Adrian.”

Monsignor nodded.

“If we could but postpone the trial for a while,”
went on the abbot almost distractedly. “That
poor boy! His face has been with me all to-day.”

For an instant Monsignor almost gave way. He
felt himself on the point of breaking out into a burst
of protest against the whole affair—­of
denouncing the horror and loathing that during these
last days had steadily grown within him—­a
horror that so far he had succeeded in keeping to
himself. Then once more he crushed it down, and
stood up for fear his resolution should give way.

“I will do what I can, my lord,” he said
coldly.

(III)

A great restlessness seized upon the man who had lost
his memory that night.

He had thought after his return from abroad that things
were well with him again—­that he had learned
the principles of this world that was so strange to
him; and his busy days—­all that had to be
done and recovered, and his success in doing it—­these
things at once distracted and soothed him. And
now once more he was back in his bewilderment.

One great principle it was which confused his whole
outlook—­the employment of force upon the
side of Christianity. Here, on the large scale,
was the forcible repression of the Socialists; on a
small scale, the punishment of a heretic. What
kind of religion was this that preached gentleness
and practised violence? . . .

Between eleven and twelve o’clock he could bear
it no longer. The house was quiet, and the lights
for the most part gone out. He took his hat and
thin cloak, throwing this round him so as to hide
the purple at his throat, went softly down the corridors
and stairs, and let himself out noiselessly into Ambrosden
Avenue. He felt he must have air and space:
he was beginning almost to hate this silent, well-ordered
ecclesiastical house, where wheels ran so smoothly,
so inexorably, and so effectively.